the meter was still running. Next week it would be four hundred thousand.
She didn't bother to reply.
Lowe felt the bottom drop out of his gut when the diver surfaced, tearing off his mask and waving something in the air. It looked like a black lump at this distance—exactly the black of corroded silver.
"Silver," she said. "Silver ingots and coin, gold ingots and chains, and a bronze casket full of emeralds. After your government takes its cut, probably about eight million dollars' worth." She smiled slightly. "Aren't you sorry you insisted on a flat fee instead of a percentage of the take?"
Lowe pulled off his hat, knotting it in one ham fist, and took a step toward her. She'd offered him a quarter share and he'd laughed in her face, and she'd given him the same damned smile then. I'm going to knock her —.
The green eyes narrowed slightly, and he stopped; stopped: as if he had run into a wall of ice.
"Not even in your dreams," she whispered.
He coughed to cover his confusion. "How? How the fuck did you know?"
She turned her head back to the divers. Two more had surfaced, and the first was dancing around the deck of the barge.
"I knew what, and where," she said. "Then I checked to see if anyone had found it. Nobody had.
Therefore it had to be here."
She went on, still looking out over the water. "I'm doubling your fee, Captain Lowe. I'll probably need your services again, and your nephew the pilot."
That put a different face on things. "Happy to oblige, ma'am."
"Just remember this," she said. "What I say I can do, I can do. Those who get in my way will regret it. Those who help me can expect to get rich. Very rich. Wealth, and great power . . ."
She turned and smiled at him. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Captain Lowe."
Another face altogether. He made a sweeping bow, grinning back. " Happy to oblige, ma'am."
Crazy bitch of a woman. But crazy like a fox.
***
"Very satisfactory," Gwen said.
Thomas Cairstens lifted his glass and clinked it against hers.
Woman of the hour, he thought, as he smiled at Gwen, although she'd managed to evade the Nassau press with delicate skill—giving them just enough to prevent a feeding frenzy. Lost pirate treasure stories were an overnight sensation. The foreign press had dropped it a week ago, although she'd become well known locally.
The dining room of Greycliff was emptying out, as the Friday evening moved toward midnight and the clientele made for bed or nightspot. The fans turned lazily overhead, and the air smelled of flowers from the small yard outside as well as of traffic from West Hill Street, muffled by the high whitewashed wall of limestone blocks that fronted the restaurant. The room itself smelled of good food and expensive perfumes.
A bit of a guilty pleasure, but one he allowed himself after a profitable deal.
She pushed a check across the table at him. "For Greenpeace," she said.
Tom looked down at it and raised his brows before he tucked it into his jacket pocket. A hundred thousand. Not too shabby.
"I didn't know you were an environmentalist," he said. She'd been all business while he handled the incorporation of IngolfTech.
"I'm anti-stupidity," she replied coolly. She was dressed simply, in a cream-colored linen dress that brought out her café-au-lait complexion and the brilliant green eyes; an emerald dragon brooch closed the high neck.
"In a hundred years or less, this planet's going to collapse—it might even become uninhabitable,"
she went on.
He nodded grimly, turning the wineglass in his hands. "That's why I got into Greenpeace in California," he said.
"Why did you get out?"
He put the glass down and met her eyes. Compelling. God, that's an attractive woman. He wasn't normally very receptive to feminine charms, but there was the occasional exception. Gwendolyn Ingolfsson just didn't feel like a woman, though. Or quite like anyone he'd ever met. Smart, too. How did she know about me? When she was there, you just didn't notice
She didn't bother to reply.
Lowe felt the bottom drop out of his gut when the diver surfaced, tearing off his mask and waving something in the air. It looked like a black lump at this distance—exactly the black of corroded silver.
"Silver," she said. "Silver ingots and coin, gold ingots and chains, and a bronze casket full of emeralds. After your government takes its cut, probably about eight million dollars' worth." She smiled slightly. "Aren't you sorry you insisted on a flat fee instead of a percentage of the take?"
Lowe pulled off his hat, knotting it in one ham fist, and took a step toward her. She'd offered him a quarter share and he'd laughed in her face, and she'd given him the same damned smile then. I'm going to knock her —.
The green eyes narrowed slightly, and he stopped; stopped: as if he had run into a wall of ice.
"Not even in your dreams," she whispered.
He coughed to cover his confusion. "How? How the fuck did you know?"
She turned her head back to the divers. Two more had surfaced, and the first was dancing around the deck of the barge.
"I knew what, and where," she said. "Then I checked to see if anyone had found it. Nobody had.
Therefore it had to be here."
She went on, still looking out over the water. "I'm doubling your fee, Captain Lowe. I'll probably need your services again, and your nephew the pilot."
That put a different face on things. "Happy to oblige, ma'am."
"Just remember this," she said. "What I say I can do, I can do. Those who get in my way will regret it. Those who help me can expect to get rich. Very rich. Wealth, and great power . . ."
She turned and smiled at him. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Captain Lowe."
Another face altogether. He made a sweeping bow, grinning back. " Happy to oblige, ma'am."
Crazy bitch of a woman. But crazy like a fox.
***
"Very satisfactory," Gwen said.
Thomas Cairstens lifted his glass and clinked it against hers.
Woman of the hour, he thought, as he smiled at Gwen, although she'd managed to evade the Nassau press with delicate skill—giving them just enough to prevent a feeding frenzy. Lost pirate treasure stories were an overnight sensation. The foreign press had dropped it a week ago, although she'd become well known locally.
The dining room of Greycliff was emptying out, as the Friday evening moved toward midnight and the clientele made for bed or nightspot. The fans turned lazily overhead, and the air smelled of flowers from the small yard outside as well as of traffic from West Hill Street, muffled by the high whitewashed wall of limestone blocks that fronted the restaurant. The room itself smelled of good food and expensive perfumes.
A bit of a guilty pleasure, but one he allowed himself after a profitable deal.
She pushed a check across the table at him. "For Greenpeace," she said.
Tom looked down at it and raised his brows before he tucked it into his jacket pocket. A hundred thousand. Not too shabby.
"I didn't know you were an environmentalist," he said. She'd been all business while he handled the incorporation of IngolfTech.
"I'm anti-stupidity," she replied coolly. She was dressed simply, in a cream-colored linen dress that brought out her café-au-lait complexion and the brilliant green eyes; an emerald dragon brooch closed the high neck.
"In a hundred years or less, this planet's going to collapse—it might even become uninhabitable,"
she went on.
He nodded grimly, turning the wineglass in his hands. "That's why I got into Greenpeace in California," he said.
"Why did you get out?"
He put the glass down and met her eyes. Compelling. God, that's an attractive woman. He wasn't normally very receptive to feminine charms, but there was the occasional exception. Gwendolyn Ingolfsson just didn't feel like a woman, though. Or quite like anyone he'd ever met. Smart, too. How did she know about me? When she was there, you just didn't notice
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